


No Mistletoe Required

by Pinkmink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9013465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmink/pseuds/Pinkmink
Summary: Featherlight touches grazed the tops of his fingers. They woke him gently, pulling him from a dreamless sleep. It almost tickled.Under his hand he felt a drumming, steady beat. A heart. Not his own.A warm breath skirted across his knuckles.Enclosing his hand were two others, pressured and uncalloused.Then he felt it again - now more discernible - soft lips, pressing themselves delicately on his fingers. So light, they might have been trying to touch the tip of a soap bubble, mindful that it might burst.The lips were Castiel’s.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You Can Keep Holding On](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7233709) by [NorthernSparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernSparrow/pseuds/NorthernSparrow). 



> Just a little Christmas fluff! Written for the SPN Digital gift exchange for @fallen_angel327. Beta'd by [rosie_berber](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rosie_berber/pseuds/rosie_berber).
> 
> Bed sharing inspired by [You Can Keep Holding On](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7233709/chapters/16421134), a fabulous story. There was a little scene where Dean wakes up with his hand in Castiel's and - well my brain just went from there!

For the Winchesters, Christmas never goes according to plan.

Two surly vampires and one podunk town later, Dean found himself flat on his aching back in the only hotel room available for fifty miles. It was past midnight, so dark it took his eyes ages to adjust to the muted street light from the window.

To his right, a full-sized bed housed his full-sized brother. If the loud snoring was any indication, the heavy dose painkillers Dean had coaxed into him were working. Thank God, because while Sam was one tough mother, it still wrenched at Dean’s heart to watch him wince in pain as he looped the needle through the marred skin of his arm. Blood had pooled and was running down the length of his bicep slowly, dodging like a plinko ball through the raised goosebumps and hair across Sam's skin. Dean’s temporary memorization with the macabre sight had been broken by Cas, silently dabbing the drip with a bit of toilet paper. Their eyes met - Castiel’s blue eyes apologetic. Damn guy was hamstrung, something in the hunt having damaged his grace. It wasn’t back at one hundred percent and Dean was stubborn enough to insist that he refrain from using it until it was. It was telling (and a little disconcerting) that Cas has listened to him.

Which lead them to the situation at his left. A solid, warm angel - curled up on his side under the covers and facing the direction of the door, away from Dean. A grace-depleted angel needed very human sleep, and Dean and Cas fit better on a full-sized bed than either of them with gigantor. Not that they fit particularly well. It was very close quarters. But Dean didn’t seem to mind - either the proximity or the view. If he shifted his gaze he could make out the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, slow and easy. Cas was asleep. That was a very good thing.

It was a good thing because otherwise, Dean might have taken advantage of their circumstance. The thrill of being this close to Cas thrummed under his skin. If Cas had been awake, surely he would have been able to hear Dean’s heart pounding against his chest. His fingers twitched. His legs stirred. The ache to reach out, to feel that heat under his fingertips - it was like a drug he didn’t want to resist.

Maybe it was because he was tired of fighting - years of pretending that Cas was nothing more than a long lost brother. Maybe it was just because it was now Christmas, the red display reading 1:32.

Or maybe it was because Dean never does a damn thing for himself.

He rolled on his side cautiously, reaching out a hand, hovering it over Cas’s body. He just wanted to wrap his arm around the angel - spoon him close to his body. Feel each breath fill and leave his lungs. Will his feelings through that small connection, like Cas would wake up and just know - and no words would have to be said. He would know how Dean’s longed for him, how he hardly remembers what it felt like not to pine.

Cas shifted, rolling his shoulders back. It was a sleepy movement - he wasn’t waking up. But it spooked Dean all the same. He withdrew his hand, pulling it close to his own chest, feeling his heart race in his throat.

Chicken shit. He’s just chicken shit. And that’s why they’re still here, at this terrible impasse. Where longing looks and sacrifices and rebellion and unspoken, unwavering devotion seem to mean nothing more than “good friends”.

Dean sighed and closed his eyes.

* * *

Featherlight touches grazed the tops of his fingers. They woke him gently, pulling him from a dreamless sleep. It almost tickled.

Under his hand he felt a drumming, steady beat. A heart. Not his own.

A warm breath skirted across his knuckles.

Enclosing his hand were two others, pressured and uncalloused.

Then he felt it again - now more discernable - soft lips, pressing themselves delicately on his fingers. So light, they might have been trying to touch the tip of a soap bubble, mindful that it might burst.

The lips were Castiel’s.

Dean was slowly coming to the realization that in his sleep, he had done what he hadn’t had the courage to do whilst awake. He’d reached out and wrapped his arm around Cas. It now laid across Castiel’s ribs and was bent, Dean’s forearm tilted up towards the angel’s chin. Dean’s body had moved too, pressed so close he could smell the laundry soap from the shirt Castiel wore under his suit.

And Castiel kept kissing. Reverent kisses, his head bobbing a little forward with the task. They were short, experimental. Slowly, they became bolder, longer. Wetter. A tentative tongue darting between the seams of Dean’s hand. His lips lingered for the space of thirty seconds, then withdrew.

A loud snore erupted from behind Dean and Castiel froze, clenching Dean’s hand a little tighter. Neither man moved - Dean hardly breathed - as Sam snored again, took a deep breath, and flopped over in his sleep.

Cas didn’t move again for a while, keeping Dean’s hand pressed between his own. It felt like hours passed before Cas once more shifted. But the anticipation made it all the more thrilling when Castiel again moved this time to bring Dean’s arm up towards his mouth. He kissed it again, with less reverence than before. It felt like a goodnight kiss - like he was done testing the limits of their current position.

But Dean didn’t want it to be over.

So he moved, his fingers jolting at first like a cold engine switching into first gear. Castiel drew a sharp breath - the air around Dean’s hand suddenly cold. Tentatively, gingerly, Dean splayed his fingers out. He drew his middle finger across Castiel’s broad bottom lip. It was dry and soft and pliable, moving with the pull. Dean traced the outside edge to the top of Castiel’s lips, pausing at the apex of his cupid's bow. The breath on his fingers was moist and quick. Slowly, he pushed his finger down, catching the wet inside edge of skin.

He let his fingers linger at the stubble on Castiel's chin, not sure how to proceed. He’d moved without giving it much thought, a natural response to the angels freely given affection. But now he feared he’d spooked him, gone too far - the kisses had felt chaste, in a way. Simply loving. Dragging his callused fingertips across broad lips was anything _but_ chaste.

But before he could act to withdraw, Castiel was rolling to face him. It was a tight squeeze, being that they were already pressed so close together on the small bed. The angel also refused to let go of Dean’s hand, which he still clasped between his own.

Dean swallowed as their eyes met in the low light. He could make out the glint of dark blue, and the shadow of drawn eyebrows. Their knees knocked together. Cas was nervous. So was he.

“Dean…” Cas began, his voice just above a whisper.

“It’s Christmas,” Dean said quickly. As if that was an explanation for his actions. And perhaps it was. Castiel seemed to nod, looking around him at the clock on the little nightstand.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, with some confusion.

Dean pulled his hand away only to place it gently on a stubbled cheek. He thumbed at those lips again, gathering courage. The memories of all the Christmases that came before sprang to the surface, none of them particularly fond. A smile from his father here, a laugh with his brother there - but mostly lonely, cold evenings spent alone. It was time that he had one good Christmas memory.

Castiel watched him lean in, only fluttering his eyes closed at the very last. He kissed the angel with the sort of chaste affection Castiel had shown - it was all too overwhelming to go much further. But Cas came alive under his hands, pulling their bodies close and breathing deep. As if he was trying to feel Dean with all of his senses.

Dean knew, in that moment, that none of his future Christmases would be lonesome again.

Pulling back just enough, he whispered against Castiel’s mouth, “Merry Christmas, Cas.”  

He could feel the soft lips pull tight into a rare, toothy smile. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”


End file.
